The Kissing Game
by laurelnola
Summary: Eleven/Clara One-shot- the Doctor reflects on the one kiss he never got (and the one he wanted most); Whoffle


A/N: **Just a little one-shot about the Doctor on Trenzalore- reflecting on the one kiss he never got, the one he wanted most**

"Thank you, Doctor," said the little girl, standing on tip-toe to kiss his cheek.

"You're welcome," he said pleasantly, rubbing the spot where she'd pecked at his old, rough skin.

He smiled to himself, watching her skip back to her mother before the two of them walked off in the snow.

It was an odd sensation to him now, the feel of lips on his skin. He knew there was a time when his capacity for random kissing had reached a critical level. For a while there, he'd been constantly kissing people, even when he didn't particularly want to. He'd kissed Tasha, and River, and even Jenny, in a rush of excitement when each of them had saved his life.

But they hadn't been the only ones to save him. In fact, their tally was laughably small compared to the amount of times that he had been saved by…..

The Doctor shuffled around his sitting room, picking up the odd toy that needed mending to join the one the little girl had given him. He looked down at it. It was a doll and a sudden memory flashed across his brain.

He'd even kissed a Barbie doll once, then had immediately offered to kiss an old man on a submarine before regaining his senses. He smiled again, almost laughing at the memory.

Of course, he knew now why he'd done it, and why it had gotten progressively more uncontrollable ever since he'd come out of hiding in Victorian London. In fact, not long after he'd kissed poor Jenny, a married woman who had absolutely zero interest in being kissed by him, it had been fairly obvious, even to him, what was going on.

He'd done it to _keep_ from kissing Clara.

Because the more he'd _wanted_ to kiss the one woman who had saved his life over and over again, the more he'd thrown his arms and lips in any direction but hers. All of his feelings, growing more powerful by the day, had to go somewhere. As long as they didn't end up on Clara's face, he told himself, he didn't have to risk losing her.

Yes, it had made him look like a bit of an idiot, but it was just…. safer that way. He'd had no idea of what she'd do if he did kiss her. The eager, flopping-around, bouncy part of him was sure/hoped/wished she might respond and kiss him back. But experience had left its mark on him. He knew all too well that when he left himself open to loving and being loved, especially by his companions, they didn't always leave happily. What they _did_ do, was always leave, one way or another. It was just as possible that she, too, would one day walk out of his life forever, and _that_ was a risk he had never been prepared to take.

Even if it got him slapped by every other woman in the universe, it would still be worth it, if he didn't lose her.

_Clara_, he thought to himself. He wondered, for the millionth time during his stay on Trezalore, what kissing Clara, _his_ Clara, would have been like. The thought always made him smile, even if it also made him a little bit sad. Would it have been like the kiss she'd given him when she'd been a Victorian governess, all soft lips and hands that clutched at his head while his arms flailed in every direction?

Somehow, he didn't think so.

He sat back in his rocking chair with a sigh, and let the doll rest in his lap for a moment. Lifting his head to the ceiling, he closed his eyes, and began to imagine Clara standing in front of him, and a version of how he would kiss her.

He was now up to version 274,812. It was one of his favorites.

In his mind, he would rise from his chair, and walk softly over to her, because she would be facing away from him, wearing the red dress she'd worn when they'd been in the heart of the TARDIS engine, her dark hair swept up, revealing her lovely neck. She'd stand perfectly still, admiring one of the pictures on his wall, those some of the children had made for him over the years. He would lay his hands gently on her shoulders, and would thrill when she gave a little sigh of contentment, leaning her cheek towards his hand.

Slowly, his fingers would slide down her arms, lacing with hers, as he'd wrap his arms around her, still holding her hands. He'd let his chin drop to the space between her neck and shoulder, so that he could he next plant a kiss on the exposed skin of her throat. He'd always let that kiss linger, tasting her skin, and always, it made Clara shiver slightly against him.

That was when she would turn, facing him, her huge brown eyes looking up at him with that sense of wonder that he never got tired of seeing, that made him feel he was looking at the only source of life worth living in the whole universe.

"Doctor," she would say, smiling up at him, and that was when he usually broke.

His body would almost act of its own accord, pulling her tighter to him, as he'd lean in and brush his lips across hers, holding her, deepening the kiss as his tongue sought hers, hands splaying across her back, hearing her gasp softly into his mouth, never letting go…

Never.

The Doctor's eyes opened, and dimly he heard the sound of people knocking on his door, needing him, as they always did. He chanced a glance at the glowing crack in his wall, and sighed. His dreams would have to wait. As usual.

With a grunt, he wrested himself from the rocking chair and limped over to his door, where the people of Christmas were waiting. But he found he was still smiling.

The feel of Clara's lips were still on his own, and somehow, it helped to remind him of what he was protecting.

Besides, he had already begun to think of version 274,813 for tomorrow.

- The End -


End file.
